Reflections on the Finale of “And Just Like That…”

Well, it ended just as it began: pretty dismal.

I’m not simply a casual “Sex and the City” viewer who feels this way. Recently, I joined a small group of fans for a viewing party to catch the finale of the reboot series, alongside others who cherished the original.

Most of us shared a sense of disappointment—honestly, it felt disheartening.

“This is absurd!” one attendee shouted, dressed in a look reminiscent of Lucy Liu’s cameo in the earlier series. It was clear others felt the same way, questioning, “Is this really what we get after investing over two decades into this?”

What sparked such strong reactions? Well, there was a Thanksgiving dinner at Miranda’s apartment that took a strange turn when a character named Epcot clogged the toilet. Epcot, who is a friend of Miranda’s son Brady and—let’s just say—her predicament wasn’t particularly amusing.

Instead of simply telling us about the plumbing struggles, the writers chose to show it. For a good ten seconds, we were faced with the aftermath, which was, uh, more than a little off-putting.

(Honestly, even “Silly Dunbar” didn’t need to go that far to convey bathroom mishaps.)

It’s a shame that a series once celebrated for its style and friendship is now mostly remembered for this kind of content.

I still remember the excitement leading up to the premiere of “And Just Like That…” back in 2021. We had high hopes of reconnecting with our favorite characters.

The premiere brought us up to speed with where they are now.

Miranda was in grad school while navigating some awkward moments with a professor, and Charlotte was struggling with her daughter’s tomboy phase and her rejection of a beautiful Oscar de la Renta dress. Meanwhile, Carrie decided to cut ties with Samantha, leading her to move to London. And of course, Big met an untimely end.

That opener didn’t exactly bode well.

Still, I stuck with it, even as the series waded through identity politics and humor seemed to take a backseat. It felt somewhat forced or at least lacking the charm of the original.

As for a final twist—I half-joked about them possibly not landing the plane at all. Picture this: a girls’ trip gone awry, perhaps a plane crash in Portugal. It would have felt strangely fitting.

Instead, we ended with what can only be described as a pile of garbage.

At least HBO Max doesn’t include scratch-and-sniff features.

Miranda, decked out in rubber gloves, faced her, uh, sewage responsibilities when unexpectedly interrupted by her girlfriend. Instead of oohs and aahs, we reacted with a collective “eww.”

“Take off your dirty gloves!” someone exclaimed.

It felt like a weird trend in streaming—where is the wit of those earlier episodes?

In the last scene, Carrie distributed pie to her friends at a Thanksgiving gathering, while she ultimately returned to her empty Gramercy apartment.

Sitting at her computer, she updated her novel to reflect, “The woman realized she wasn’t alone. She was herself.”

It’s as if her storied romance took a back seat to just about everything else.

Recently, I happened upon a new version of “The Naked Gun” that offered genuine laughs—thanks to the nod to “Sex and the City.” There’s a moment when a character mentions Miranda rights, ultimately remarking, “Carrie doesn’t write. Miranda is a lawyer.”

And I can’t help but wonder—if the stars and creators of “And Just Like That…” had the chance to go back, would they consider stopping the series before it tarnished the legacy we all hold dear? I genuinely hope so.